


Time May Change Me

by A_Professional_Protagonist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon Rewrite, Drama, Fix-It, M/M, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 10:07:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27849098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Professional_Protagonist/pseuds/A_Professional_Protagonist
Summary: A rewrite of the end of Season 5 to change what I felt was out of character, but keep my favorite bits.
Relationships: Brian Kinney/Justin Taylor (Queer as Folk)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 84





	Time May Change Me

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Q and M for critiquing this for me. Your advice vastly improved my writing.

Brian walked slowly around Justin’s studio, a small grimace on his face. “I love how you’ve kept the original details: rusty pipes, filthy windows, grime covered walls.” 

Brian shivered, both from the chill and his general disgust. He didn’t know how Justin could stand living like this. From what Brian had covertly learned from Daphne, even the fiddler’s starving artist nest hadn’t been this bad. 

Justin painted, bracing his right arm with his left in a manner Brian sadly recognized as meaning his arm was starting to give out on him. And yet, he kept painting.

So actually, Brian did know how Justin could stand living here. Pure stubbornness. Little fucker had never been lacking in that.

“I just stopped by to see if you’re alright.” Despite Brian’s casual tone, he was very worried about how Justin would handle this new trauma, remembering far too well how fragile Justin had been following the bashing.

“I’m fine, thanks,” Justin said without looking away from his painting. “The best way to survive, to go on, is to make something. Just so that you can prove to yourself, and to them, that they didn’t get you.”

Brian felt warmth wash over him. Some people would cower when faced with this hatred, but Justin stood up for himself and fought back. He loved that about Justin. 

Loved. That thought brought back all the emotions of the previous night. The visceral fear hearing the report on the radio. The panic as the memory of blood on a white scarf played on repeat through Brian’s mind as he searched for Justin. The intense relief when he finally found Justin safe. And the overwhelming mix of joy and fear when he said those three words.

“Well, I’m glad you are.” Brian’s voice thickened as he moved to pull Justin into his arms. 

Justin resisted. “Brian, you’re gonna get paint all over yourself.”

“Doesn’t matter.” And it didn’t. Because paint on Armani didn’t even begin to compare to having Justin safe in his arms, smelling the tinge of familiar sweat and feeling the comfortable way Justin's head fit beneath Brian's chin.

Justin let Brian hold him, but held his own paint-covered hands up awkwardly.

Brian looked down at Justin’s face. “Didn’t you hear what I said to you last night?”

“Yes, I heard, you said you love me.” Justin pulled away. 

“Then how about coming home?” Brian asked softly.

“It doesn’t change anything. I’ve always known you love me. But we still want different things.” Justin turned away. 

Brian recognized the move, because it was his, that inability to make eye contact when avoiding difficult emotion. 

“You’re only saying it now because you’re freaked out about what happened.”

Brian looked out the window. It was partially true. When Justin was bashed, Brian had reacted by running away, hiding in his ‘pain management,’ convinced that Justin was better off without him. Of course, the kid had refused to leave him alone. 

Brian was reacting to this new trauma in the opposite way.

“I’m not letting you go,” Brian said quietly. He saw Justin's body tense in reaction, but he still stubbornly refused to look at Brian. 

Brian watched him paint for a few minutes before leaving quietly. When he got to the car, he started the engine, but didn’t put it into gear, just looked up at the large windows of Justin’s studio/apartment/rat-trap.

His chest literally fucking ached with longing and regret, two things he’d always told himself he wasn’t supposed to feel. 

Brian had an ideal of detached, emotionless manhood, ingrained in him by miserable parents that hated each other and despised what Brian was. He was self-aware enough to recognize the irony in still hearing their voices telling him to ‘be a man’ whenever his emotions showed. He hadn't meant to confess to Theodore. But that's what it had been, a confession, or maybe an exorcism, voicing the root of his anguish. 

Brian couldn’t get hurt if he refused to acknowledge that he cared about anyone else. 

Except that wasn’t true. 

Brian had been so busy denying feeling any emotion for Justin that he'd pushed him out the door. 

Michael was leaving him behind, settling into some grownup existence and criticizing Brian for not following.

Brian was left feeling completely miserable, finding the world ‘weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable.’ And fuck, things had to be bad if he was thinking in Hamlet quotes. 

It was time to change. He'd had enough of his shit baggage fucking up his life. The man he loved had been attacked, again, and his best friend had almost died thinking he hated him. 

It had taken a bomb to knock some sense into Brian, but damned if he was going to let his own bullshit stand between him and the people important to him anymore. He needed to show Justin and Michael a little emotion. It was going to hurt, but not near as much as he hurt now. 

*****

Brian opened the door of the loft only to have a casserole dish shoved at him. He blinked as he realized the woman shoving it at him was blond rather than a redhead.

“I spoke to Debbie.” Jennifer said as she walked in without waiting for an invitation. “She’s a fucking inspiration.”

Brian smirked, mentally comparing this confident, cussing Jennifer to the shy, prim woman he’d first met. “I can tell she’s had a profound influence.” 

“She told me that I needed to come over here with a fatty noodle dish and make sure you weren’t indulging in too much self-destruction.”

Brian looked down at the casserole dish dubiously. It smelled pretty good, even if he'd never admit it.

"It's my Gramma Lewis's mac and cheese."

"Did you bring pot, too?"

Jennifer rolled her eyes. "Who do I look like to you? Mary-Louise Parker?"

Brian couldn't help the huff of a laugh that escaped his irritated mask. He set the casserole dish on the counter, pulled off the tinfoil, and got out two forks. Raising an eyebrow, he held up the bottle of Jack. Jennifer nodded; he grabbed two glasses. 

“Christ, what a nightmare.” Jennifer rubbed her temple.

Brian poured a generous shot in each glass.

“I just thank God Justin’s alright.”

They tapped their glasses together. Brian swallowed his shot trying to push down the memory of the time Justin wasn’t alright.

Jennifer looked at Brian softly. “And you.”

Brian avoided her eyes, carefully selecting a forkful of mac and cheese.

“Have you talked to Justin?” Jennifer asked before diving in with her own fork.

Brian chewed slowly. “I asked him to come back, but he turned me down,” he finally mumbled.

“Oh.” Jennifer winced.

Brian poked his fork in the casserole. 

Jennifer wrinkled her brow. "You know… when I first met you, I was terrified. I thought that you’d hurt my little boy. That there was no way you could really care about him.”

Brian kept his eyes down as he took another bite.

“Clearly, I was wrong. I know now how fiercely you love each other. But, I also know that love doesn’t work without communication. You two need to figure out how to talk out your problems. No more dramatics when the going gets rough.” Jennifer pointed her fork in a distinctly Debbie-ish fashion.

“Thanks for the pep talk, Mother Taylor,” Brian said with his tongue in his cheek.

“Damn straight, Brian. Because whatever happens between you and Justin, I care about you.”

Jennifer rounded the counter and drew Brian into an awkward hug. After a moment, Brian relaxed and let one arm loosely circle her back. As far as ‘mom’ gestures of affection went, he had to admit, this was better than Debbie smacking him upside the head. And the mac and cheese was pretty damn good.

After Jennifer left, Brian poured another generous measure of whiskey into his glass before walking over to the big bank of windows and staring out. This was where he did his best thinking, and loathe as he was to admit it, he needed to do some serious contemplation.

Jennifer was right. He and Justin were utterly terrible at communicating. Brian especially. He’d done an even shittier job of it since Justin had been back from California, holding him at arm’s length out of fear that he’d leave again. Not that Brian was conscious of it at the time. He had to admit he had a hard time even being honest with himself. 

So what did he want? Justin, obviously. When they’d first met, Brian had done everything he could to push him away. He didn’t want to be dependent on anyone else. But, as Deb had told him, the kid had gotten in under the wire. And the fucking cancer had taught him that sometimes he did need someone else. He never could have gotten through the treatment alone. Brian had thought that he and Justin had finally gotten someplace good after that. But then Hollywood, and if he was going to be honest with himself, Brian’s insecurity, had managed to damage the tenuous partnership they’d built.

Brian wanted that back. To be comfortable together like they were taking down Stockwell or even dealing with the cancer. He knew that meant he was going to have to be open with Justin more, not just when they reached some sort of boiling point.

Did Justin want marriage and monogamy? Brian wasn’t sure. Justin had seemed to be over all that romantic bullshit, but then he’d published the marriage issue of Rage. 

With Michael. The other person he’d managed to push away. He was just so angry, and he wasn’t sure if it was Michael or the existence of marriage. 

Brian fucking hated marriage. Everything the institution stood for. Its association with a religion that damned him and breeders that rejected him. And of course, the fact that any ceremony they could have wasn’t even legal.

That didn’t mean he was opposed to any formal commitment. In fact, the cancer had forced him to seriously consider his rocky legal position. Well, the cancer and Theodore’s stubborn insistence that Brian meet with an estate lawyer. Ted had scheduled meeting after meeting with a stern, older woman who bore a striking resemblance to Ruth Bader Ginsburg until Brian finally broke down and talked to her. She had, with no bullshit or sympathy, explained to him exactly how utterly fucked he was.

Brian had been terrified that he’d be incapacitated somehow during the cancer and that his mother or sister would be called on to make decisions. He told all his doctors to defer to Justin, but he hadn’t had any legal rights. That needed to change.

The cancer had changed some other things too. Or maybe, he begrudgingly admitted, he was just getting older. While he still enjoyed tricking, his appetite for anonymous backroom fucks and alley blowjobs wasn’t what it once was. And he’d often find himself thinking about how sex with Justin was just better. What a lesbianic thought. Brian still didn’t think monogamy was realistic, but if Justin really wanted it, perhaps he could try.

In order to get anywhere, he had to get Justin to talk to him. Brain was going to have to summon all the power in his remaining ball and get Justin’s attention. 

He’d need to suck it up and talk to Michael, too.

Brian downed the last of the whiskey. He pressed his forehead to the cool glass and planned his next moves.

*****

Justin had enjoyed taking care of Gus as a baby, but he much preferred it now that Gus was becoming an actual person. They colored together in a booth at the diner while his mothers finished up. Justin was impressed by his steady, careful drawing.

“What kind of dinosaur is that, buddy?” 

“It has three horns." Gus pointed and waited. When Justin didn't say anything, Gus gave him an exasperated look. "Triceratops.”

Justin looked over at Mel, who proudly grinned around her coffee cup.

Lindsay slid back into the booth. “Order’s all set. That’ll be one less thing for Marie to worry about.” She sighed through her nose as she watched Gus and gently took Mel’s hand. “I still just can’t believe it. How could someone hate us so much?”

“You know I used to hate it when Brian would talk about straight people hating us, because I knew that wasn’t true,” Mel said. “There are plenty of straight people who don’t hate us. But they don't care, don't see, don't realize how bad it is for us.”

Tears welled up in Lindsay’s eyes, and Mel gently kissed her forehead.

“My grandfather used to tell me to be grateful to be an American. That I was lucky to live in a country where everyone had the right to live without intolerance or oppression. But there’s a bully trying to take that away from us.” Mel set her shoulders. “I’ve never backed down from a bully.”

A knot formed in Justin’s stomach at the idea of more violence. “What are you saying?” 

“I’m not sure, but I can’t look at these faces without knowing I am doing absolutely everything to make this a country they can live in without being hurt or humiliated for who they are. Working against Prop 14 has made me realize just how much more work there is to be done. No one is going to just give us our rights. We are going to have to lobby and litigate for every inch.”

That knot eased as Justin realized that of course Mel was talking about a legal fight rather than a physical one. He had more questions, but a sudden, loud voice interrupted them.

“Is there a Justin Taylor here?” yelled a woman in a delivery uniform, holding a large bouquet of roses by the front door.

“Umm yea,” Justin said waving his hand, “that’s me.”

She plopped the bouquet down on the table and walked off. Gus looked at her disdainfully for covering up his picture, while his mothers just looked surprised.

Justin grabbed the card. 

_I’ll do anything to prove to the man I love how much I love him. Including public gestures of affection._

“It’s from Brian,” Justin said quietly.

Lindsay broke out in a huge smile. “Well, it just goes to show you, if you love someone long enough and hard enough,”

“You’ll get a sore ass?” Mel quipped behind her hand.

Lindsay smacked Mel's arm and hissed, “Language!” Gus, who had pulled his paper out from under the bouquet, continued to be absorbed in his drawing. A T. rex now attacked the Triceratops. 

Lindsay smiled and leaned forward, clearly getting ready to share her expert knowledge of Kinney psychology. Justin cringed. 

Thankfully, Mel noticed. “We’d better go,” she said, gathering Jenny’s gear.

Lindsay hesitated for a moment, but nodded and got Gus’s things together.

Justin was left sitting in the booth alone, staring at a public gesture of affection.

*****

“Good, you’re awake,” Brian said as he nimbly stepped into Michael’s hospital room and shut the door behind him. “I was afraid that I’d flirted past a female nurse for nothing.” He held up a pizza.

It was a blatant appeal to nostalgia. Brian and Michael had spent many high school afternoons at Bravo’s eating, talking, and admiring the sweaty kitchen staff. 

“Am I even allowed to eat that?”

Brian waved a hand. “Don’t worry. The nurse says you can have half a slice if you eat it really slow.” Brian rolled the tray over Michael’s bed and put the pizza down. He ripped the lid off the box to make an impromptu plate. “So… how are you?” Brian pulled silverware out of a pocket and started cutting a slice into small pieces.

“The doctor says I’ll live provided I stay away from bombs.” Michael winced as he slowly raised his bed to sit up.

Brian’s eyes flashed with concern, but he stayed quiet.

“Look, what happened between us… I just wanted to say…” Michael began.

“Forget it. We both behaved like assholes.” Brian moved the cut up piece so that Michael could easily reach it before grabbing a slice of his own and flopping back in a chair.

That was as much apology as they usually needed. Brian had never been much for words; Michael had never been much for pushing it.

“No, I have some stuff I need to say. Ben told me once about this thing… a fake choice, I think… he was telling me about how people covered up gay stuff in Greek mythology because they thought the heroes couldn’t be manly warriors and fuck other guys at the same time... anyway, it’s where someone sets up two things as an either/or kind of deal when really, there are other choices.” 

“It’s called a false dichotomy,” Brian said without taking his eyes off his pizza.

“Ok, false dichotomy, so I’ve realized that I set one of those up. That it was either marriage or club boy. That you had to agree with me on everything for us to stay friends. But that’s not true. I can be married to Ben and you can… whatever you want. And it’s ok that our lives aren’t the same anymore. It’s ok to change.”

Brian chewed his pizza deliberately while staring at the wall. He swallowed hard, then spoke quietly. “I was doing the same thing. I shouldn’t have called you a defector for wanting marriage and a family. You have every right to go after the things you want.”

Michael smiled. “Fuck, Brian. Did we just have a grown-up conversation?”

Brian finally made eye contact. “Yes, and I feel dirty.”

*****

Daphne walked into Justin’s studio with a takeout bag.

“I come bearing food!” 

Justin recognized the logo of his favorite Mexican place and put down his brush. 

“I love you, Daphne,” he said as he washed his hands.

“Damn right, you do.” She put down the bag and hugged him tight. Since the bombing, Daphne had taken every opportunity to hug Justin. He didn’t mind. Nothing like being the victim of a hate crime to make a person appreciate their friends.

When she finally released him, Justin cleared the small table he kept free of paint.

"So, have you talked to Brian again? Gotten any more gestures of affection?"

Justin waved a hand dismissively. "He isn't serious."

"Really?" Daphne arched her eyebrows as she looked over the things Justin had cleared off the table. The bouquet. A box of chocolates with a note that said ‘I miss everything about you.’ A bottle of very expensive wine, marked ‘please come home.’

Justin rolled his eyes.

"Brian is expressing his emotions and asking for what he wants. Seems like a step forward to me." Daphne shrugged with faux innocence.

"Daph, he's only doing this because he's freaked out from the bombing."

Daphne cocked her head to the side in a look Justin recognized as her ‘you’re an idiot’ look. "Well, of course he’s freaked out. Everyone's freaked out. It doesn't mean he doesn't love you." Daphne took a big bite of her burrito.

"I know he loves me. But we still want different things." Justin avoided eye contact by carefully applying hot sauce.

Daphne sighed in frustration. "How do you know?"

"Huh?" Justin looked up in genuine confusion.

"Have you ever explicitly talked about what you each want? Weighed each other's needs? Considered a compromise?"

"I don't want him to change for me, to sacrifice who he is," Justin said firmly.

"You just want to magically be on the same page, read each other's minds, be perfectly effortless soulmates?" Daphne put a hand to her chest and swooned.

Justin glared.

She sat up and pushed his shoulder. "That's not how relationships work in the real world. You have to communicate!"

"And what, you're a relationship expert now?" 

Daphne threw up her hands, tiny bits of rice and beans flying out of her burrito with the motion. "No, I've just been your best friend for the last eighteen years. And I’ve watched the Justin and Brian melodrama from the start. You suck at talking. And he’s even worse.”

Daphne had a point. While he and Brian excelled at nonverbal bonding, they really did suck at actually talking. 

“How do you know what he wants? How does he know what you want? Fuck, Justin, do you even know what you really want?"

Again, point. Justin knew he wanted Brian to make some sort of commitment, some sort of statement that he really wanted them to be partners, that Justin wasn’t his teenage tagalong anymore. But he hadn’t honestly thought about what that was going to look like.

“You two are the most dysfunctional idiots I have ever met. You’re totally perfect for each other. If you can just get the balls to actually talk.” Daphne grinned.

Daphne left after they finished eating, giving Justin another bone-crushing hug.

Justin spent the rest of the day staring at walls and chain-smoking.

He thought about what his mom had said. She’d asked him why neither he nor Brian were willing to change. When he’d told her ‘that’s not love, that’s sacrifice,' she’d given him this exasperated look that had made him feel five years old again. 

If the two most important women in his life both thought he was an idiot, maybe he was.

He thought about what he’d been doing since he got back from California. And how it must look to Brian. He’d done a wedding issue of Rage. He’d acted like a hypocrite about the syphilis. (Brian was right; it could have just as easily been Justin who’d gotten an STD.) He’d moved in with Michael. 

Of course Brian thought he wanted to be a Stepford Fag. 

And when he’d moved out. He hadn’t told Brian what he wanted. He just expected Brian to know somehow, even though he’d been sending confusing signals.

As he stubbed out his last cigarette, he realized Daphne was right. He’d just have to get some balls and talk to Brian.

*****

Justin slid the loft door open without knocking, the scraping sound and weight so achingly familiar. Just as familiar as the sight of Brian reclined on the couch, bare feet on the coffee table, beer in hand, and Brando on the TV.

Justin closed the door and slowly walked forward. He took a deep breath and gathered his courage. Funny, since he'd always blamed Brian for their poor communication. But he was also guilty of being a coward.

"Okay."

"Okay, what?" Brian asked, not moving from the couch. Justin could see the apprehension in his feigned relaxed posture.

"Okay, let's do this. I'll come back, if we talk about what we both want. Honestly."

"Shit, let me get some pot." Brian rocked forward.

"We do this sober, Brian." Justin crossed his arms and leaned against the pillar. He needed the physical distance or he knew he'd lose the nerve to talk.

Brian flopped back down and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine."

"Tell me what you want," Justin asked, forcing Brian to open up first.

Brian looked straight at Justin, holding his gaze. "You." 

Justin smiled patiently. "I'm going to need some more detail."

"You in my life, in my house, in my bed. Everything else is negotiable."

"Really? Everything?" Justin raised his brow coyly. "Even walking down the aisle in matching Vera Wangs?"

Brian took a deep breath. "Not that. I know you want it, but I can't participate in an institution…"

"Breeders, pederast priests, doomsday machine, et cetera and so forth." Justin waved a hand.

Brian smiled carefully. "Yeah.”

There was a time when Justin had imagined Brian romantically proposing, when he had dreamed of an elegant wedding. Before he'd left Brian for Ethan and realized romance was meaningless. Before he'd gone through cancer with Brian and realized what partnership really meant.

It wasn't the ceremony or the term “husband” that was really important. It was the day-to-day of a life together. Making plans that included each other. Taking care of each other. Communication. Commitment. 

“We don't need rings or vows to prove that we love each other," Justin said quietly.

Brian ran a hand through his hair. "Then what was all that shit with Rage getting married? You had me fucking terrified!"

"You are aware that Michael writes the comic, too?" Justin shrugged. "And I went along with it because… well… it was a nice romantic fantasy."

Brian grimaced.

"But I'm aware of your objections to marriage. And they're justified." Justin smiled playfully. "Besides, you'd spontaneously combust if forced to share your emotions in front of other people." 

Justin's expression grew serious once more. “But I need us to be real partners. I need to know that you want to be with me longer than just next week.”

"Christ, Justin. I've wanted that for a long time." Brian swallowed and closed his eyes. "It's just hard to talk about."

"But I need you to sometimes. We need to be able to talk about the big life stuff without a traumatic event scaring us into it."

Brian looked at Justin once more, rare vulnerability in his expression. “Yea, I guess. Can there be pot sometimes?” He raised a hopeful eyebrow.

“I suppose.” Justin smiled and joined him on the couch.

Brian visibly relaxed and leaned forward to gently kiss Justin. And fuck, Justin nearly melted. His lips tingled, and he desperately wanted to throw himself onto Brian, but he forced himself to hold back. 

“I'm not opposed to all forms of commitment.” Brian spoke softly against Justin's lips, sending a shiver up Justin’s spine. “I want you and Gus taken care of if anything happens to me. You making decisions if I can’t. You running Kinnetik.”

"I'm not in this for your money, Brian." Justin leaned back.

"I know. It's not just for you." Anger flashed over Brian’s expression. "Fuck, what if they'd called in my mother as next of kin when I was sick? And I'll be damned if she or my sister get a penny from me. This protects me… and Gus."

And there was the commitment Justin was looking for. A marriage ceremony didn’t mean anything, legally, in Pennsylvania. But wills, power of attorney, those things were binding.

Justin surged forward, kissing Brian fully and straddling him.

After a few moments of messy tongue and mild grinding, Brian broke the kiss. “If you really want it… I’d be willing to try that thing.”

“That thing?” Justin asked. 

Brian didn’t meet Justin’s eyes, just pressed their temples together.

“The thing that’s real close to monotony?” Justin whispered. He knew what a huge deal it was for Brian to offer. Honestly though, Justin didn’t want it. He liked fucking around, especially fucking around together. And Brian just wasn’t Brian without his rampant sexuality.

“I don’t want it. Maybe someday though.”

Brian nodded.

“But, I will not tolerate you using tricking to push me away or passively aggressively fight with me.”

Brian dropped his forehead to Justin’s shoulder, something Justin recognized as an admission of guilt.

“And I don’t want tricks in our home, unless we’re sharing.”

“Fair.”

Justin began kissing his way up Brian’s neck, reveling in the low moans it elicited. He bit Brian on the chin playfully before kissing his mouth.

When they parted, Brian pressed his forehead to Justin's. “I love you,” he said, so quietly Justin felt more than heard it.

“I love you, too.” He kissed Brian. Deep and open. Pouring all his emotion into it.

After a moment, Brian pulled back and gave Justin his rakish grin. “I only have one more question, now that we've done all this emotion and commitment shit, will you still blow me?”

“Ever the romantic.” Justin rolled his eyes. “That depends, will you still fuck me all over this loft?”

*****

Brian dropped a folder on his CFO’s desk. “Theodore, I need you to change the beneficiaries on my investments and update my health insurance. Everything you need should be in there.”

“Ok, boss.” Ted took a sip of his coffee and opened the folder.

The coffee shot clear across the room.

*****

Brian walked into Michael’s house to find him on the couch watching TV. 

“I need you to hold onto a copy of these papers in case of emergency,” he said calmly. He set a large envelope on the coffee table before flopping down.

Michael looked at Brian sideways for a moment before opening the envelope.

“Holy fucking shit!”

Deb appeared from the kitchen at her son’s exclamation. She peered over his shoulder, and her eyebrows went up as she read. She gave Brian a long, thoughtful look before speaking.

“There’s only one explanation. You must have knocked up Sunshine.”

Brian rolled his eyes and walked out the front door without a word.

*****

Justin slid the loft door open one-handed, his other arm loaded down with a large duffel bag. Jennifer walked in behind him carrying a couple smaller bags.

"Thanks for helping me get my stuff, Mom. Brian’s car doesn’t exactly have trunk space."

“Of course,” Jennifer said, dropping her bags on the couch.

While it was true that the Corvette’s lack of trunk space was inconvenient, moving his stuff had been a pretense to talk to his mom alone. In the car, he’d apologized for being an ass about Tucker. He’d forced himself to be mature enough to admit that his real problem was feeling left out, that his mom had dated the guy for six months before telling him.

Justin picked up the folder on the counter: the other reason he’d wanted to talk to his mom. He paused, absorbing the gravity of what he was about to do. Part of him felt like a little kid again, showing his mom some piece of art from school. Another part felt fully grown up, like he was taking a huge step into adulthood. Which, of course, he was.

“Mom… I need you to hold on to a copy of these papers.” He turned and handed her the folder.

Jennifer looked at him questioningly, but took the folder and opened it slowly. She gasped, “Oh, honey. Does this mean what I think it means?”

Justin smiled shyly. 

“This… this basically means you’re married.” Jennifer took a big breath through her nose as she bit her bottom lip.

Justin laughed out loud. “Don’t let Brian hear you say the ‘m’ word. But yea, as committed as we can legally be.”

“I’m so happy for you.” Jennifer took her son into her arms and held him close. After a moment, she drew back. “You know… this does mean I missed out on something important.”

Justin cocked his head to the side.

“My first dance with the groom.” 

Justin rolled his eyes.

“Oh come on, you’re never too old to dance with your mom.” Jennifer moved her arms to hold her son in a dancing pose.

Justin smiled indulgently and led her in a simple waltz.

*****

Lindsay examined the pieces leaning haphazardly against the wall of Justin's studio.

“Remember that critic from ‘Art Forum?’ The one you thought was that other ‘C’ word?”

“Simon What’s-his-name?” Justin brushed sealant on a large canvas.

“He wrote an entire article about you.”

“So?”

“So! The critics are raving about you, people want to buy your work. This is a chance for you to move up. Take the next step. Go to New York. Live every artist's dream.” She gestured at his work with a wistful expression.

“To live in a rat-infested closet? To work three jobs trying to pay rent and have no time to paint?”

Justin knew he was being an ass, but he couldn’t help the anger boiling up. Lindsay was suggesting he abandon his entire life, again, to go chase promises. Brett Keller had promised Justin fame and a fabulous career. And he’d been full of shit. Simon the Cunt was no different.

Lindsay’s face fell. "I suppose it is a bit of a fantasy.” She bit her lip as she looked again at the paintings. “I just don't want you to waste your talent."

“I know.” Justin calmed, thinking of all the times Lindsay had encouraged his art. “Thank you for believing in me. You always have. But this article is bullshit. Next month, it’ll be some other hot, new artist, and I'll be yesterday's garbage." 

If Justin had allowed himself to look at Lindsay, he would have seen only sadness in her expression.

After Lindsay left, Justin quit working, dropping his brushes roughly into the sink. 

Lindsay had been the first person to really encourage his career in art. His teachers, and even his mom, had always treated it as a hobby, not a job. But Lindsay’s encouragement had always been tainted by her own abandoned dreams. She hadn’t been brave enough to try to make it as an artist, choosing academia instead. Now she was trying to push that on Justin, which made her career advice unreliable at best.

Could he really make it in New York? Justin wanted that so badly, wanted to have a real career as an artist. But he didn’t want to leave everyone he cared about behind again. Not so soon. Not now that he and Brian had worked things out.

“Fuck!” he yelled, kicking his table.

*****

Brian watched as Gus made a snowball and threw it, hitting another kid square in the back. 

"When did he learn to throw like that?"

"Hmmm?" Lindsay shrugged. "Oh six months ago, I guess."

"I must have been working." Brian allowed regret into his tone as he watched his son run around the playground. After the cancer, he'd promised himself he'd spend more time with his son, but like so many other things, it hadn't worked out like he'd wanted. Sure, he took Gus to the park on occasion, but he was still very much the drop-in dad. 

The bomb was a second wakeup call, and he wasn’t going to let this one go unheeded. 

"Brian…" Lindsay placed a gentle hand on his arm.

Brian knew from long experience that this meant he wouldn't like whatever it was she had to say. He stopped watching Gus and turned towards her.

Lindsay kept her eyes on her son. "Mel's interviewing for a job. With the ACLU."

Brian's stomach lurched. The ACLU was based in New York. "You're moving?"

Lindsay turned suddenly. "Oh! No. They think Pennsylvania is going to be a good place for test cases. Prop 14 and all that. They want lawyers experienced with Pennsylvania law and judges."

Brian relaxed. 

"Mel wants to fight. Defend our rights." Lindsay closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "But I'm scared. I don't want to be a target. I don't want the kids to be targets."

"They already are," Brian said calmly. 

Lindsay turned to him, surprise evident on her face. 

"They have four queer parents. Of course, they're going to be targets. But, do you want to teach them to hide or to fight?" 

Brian looked out at his son. Gus dodged a snowball before chucking one at the kid in return.

"I know which one I want to teach Gus." 

He turned back to Lindsay. She was looking at him, brow furrowed and mouth slightly open.

"Wow, Brian... that's not what I expected from you."

He shrugged. "What? Did you forget I lost my job and put myself in debt to defeat a homophobic ass?"

"Yea, I guess I did." Lindsay wrapped an arm around Brian's and leaned into his shoulder. "But speaking of money…"

Brian sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Mel will have to leave her practice. And this job will pay a lot less. We'll need some help."

"Have I ever turned you down when you've asked for money for Gus?"

Lindsay smiled. "No."

Brian locked eyes with Lindsay. "But this time, I want something in return. I want my rights back. Mel figured out a way to give the three of you rights to JR. She can figure out a way to give me rights to my son." Brian resented that Mel had wanted him to sign over his rights, but hadn't asked that of Michael.

"This won't make up for lost time," Lindsay said quietly.

"But I can be a better father from now on."

Lindsay looked into his eyes for a long moment before pulling Brian into a hug. "You've grown up," she whispered into his ear.

"Had to happen eventually," Brian whispered in return.

Soon Gus was running up to them, complaining he was cold with snow in his boots and down his jacket.

After Lindsay put Gus in his carseat, Brian leaned in to kiss him goodbye. 

Lindsay grabbed a magazine off the passenger seat and handed it to Brian. 

"He's probably too modest to show you this." She kissed Brian's cheek and got in the car as well.

*****

Justin sat on the floor, sketching on the coffee table as Brian flipped through a magazine. Justin smiled to himself at the simple domesticity of it. Not that he and Brian had never just hung out before, Justin had certainly lived at the loft often enough over the years, but this felt more settled. 

He glanced up at the bedroom and then down at his sketch again, contemplating the design: solid walls and large french doors opening into the bedroom. Over dinner the other night, he and Brian had talked about having some work done to separate the bedroom from the rest of the loft. As Gus got older, the lack of privacy when he stayed over would get awkward. And, rare as it was, sometimes Brian or Justin would want to be asleep when the other wasn’t. The openness of the loft made that difficult. As Justin’s mother had once said, the loft was a fuckpad. Isolating the bedroom would make it more of a home. 

And the fact that they were talking about it together, rather than Brian just deciding, made Justin feel that they were really partners.

Brian suddenly began reading aloud from the magazine. Justin felt his chest tighten as he realized it was the Art Forum review.

Brian gave Justin a long, pointed look. “That’s some review, Mr Taylor.”

He forced a bored expression and shrugged dismissively. “He admired my ass more than my paintings.”

“He could have admired your ass without writing the review.” Brian quoted again, “New York is waiting to be conquered.”

“It’s an empty promise.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve been to Hollywood, remember? They made empty promises, too.”

Justin decided a different tactic was in order to end this conversation. He crawled in front of Brian, lifted his shirt and nuzzled the sparse hair below his navel while unbuttoning his jeans.

Brian pushed Justin’s head away. “We need to finish this conversation.”

“Brian Kinney doesn’t turn down a blowjob to talk,” Justin growled.

“Maybe I do if it’s important. This critic seems to think you really stand a chance of making it in New York.”

“But I don’t want it!” Justin’s voice rose with his anger.

“Yes, you do.” Brian’s voice was penetrating.

“I don’t want to throw away everything I have here to follow some bullshit dream. And that’s what it is… bullshit! It’ll be just like Hollywood, I’ll get strung along just long enough to get thoroughly crushed.”

“So you’re scared then?” Brian’s frustration added a cruel tone to his voice. “You’re not even going to try because you’re afraid?”

“I’m not scared; I’m being realistic.”

“You’re being a scared little boy,” Brain mocked. “One deal doesn’t work out, so you pout and give up. I thought you were braver than this.”

Justin felt that like a punch to the stomach. “Fuck you, Brian, I’m leaving.” Justin grabbed his coat and marched toward the door to the loft. As he pushed his shoes on, he looked over at Brian who wore an expression of open panic. 

Guilt clenched in Justin’s gut. “I’m not leaving you.” Justin said, his voice calm and quiet now. “I just need some air. I’ll be home soon.” Justin’s stomach eased as he saw Brian’s tense form relax.

Justin hurried out the door and down the stairs, unwilling to wait for the elevator. As he walked out the front door, his eyes watered from more than just the cold night air. He walked through empty streets and let the angry tears flow. 

He was so fucking angry. At Brian, for trying to run his life. At Lindsay, because she must have meddled. And at himself, because as the tears flowed, he knew that Brian was right. He was afraid to take a chance, to leave Pittsburgh again. The last time he’d done that, he’d fucked things up with Brian. It had taken months, a breakup, and a bomb to get back to partnership with him. How was he supposed to leave Brian now? 

And it wasn’t just Brian. He had a whole life here: his mom, Molly, Daphne, everyone. He had missed them so much when he was in California. How could he leave again?

Eventually, the exertion, cold, and tears wore down the anger and fear until he was able to think. He debated those two choices: stay or go. 

He stopped abruptly as he realized that maybe that was his problem. Lindsay had presented this ‘starving artist in New York’ fantasy. And Justin was treating it as an all or nothing choice. He either went to New York alone or stayed in Pittsburgh with Brian.

But pursuing New York didn’t have to mean moving there permanently. He could just check things out, meet with some galleries, see where things went. 

He walked on, feeling the fear and anger dissipate as he made a plan.

When Justin walked back into the loft, feeling calm and confident again, Brian was standing by the window. Without turning, Brian spoke, “I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

Justin took off his coat and shoes. He walked to the window and wrapped his arms around Brian from behind, pushing his cold hands under Brian’s shirt. Brian shuddered but didn’t move away. 

“I shouldn’t have gotten so angry. You’re right. I shouldn’t let the opportunity go by just because I got burned before. I’ll go out for a couple of weeks and shop my work around.” Justin slid around Brian’s body so that he could look him in the eye. “And then I’m coming home. To you.”

Brian leaned down and kissed Justin, slow and tender.

“See,” Justin murmured against Brian’s lips. “We can fight and live through it.”

“Do I get a blowjob now?” Brian whispered.

Justin pinched the bare skin of Brian’s hip, a place only Justin knew he was ticklish. Brian bent away from the sensation involuntarily and Justin used the momentary advantage to push Brian toward the couch.

“I think that can be arranged.”

*****

Everything glittered, once again shiny and new as Brian leaned against a pillar and watched the Babylon crowd. The music played, the men danced, and not even a bomb could stop them.

Michael slid into place beside him. "They're playing our song."

“Really?” Brian asked, cocking a sarcastic eyebrow as he allowed himself to be pulled toward one of the raised platforms. 

Gloria Gaynor sang ‘We Will Survive’ as they moved in their old rhythm. Michael smiled like an idiot, while Brian played it cool. Brian thought that some things never changed. 

But, as he looked out at the crowd, he realized some things definitely had.

Lindsay and Mel danced with their foreheads pressed together, the sight of them reminding Brian that he and Michael were fathers. Somehow, Gus managed to simultaneously make him feel a depth of love he’d never imagined and completely incompetant. He wondered if everyone felt like an imposter as a parent.

Ted danced with Blake. Ted’s story was some sort of strange bildungsroman: office drone to porn king to meth queen to confident CFO. Five years ago, Brian had openly abhorred Ted, but Brian had grown to respect him as the man had come into his own. He couldn’t imagine running Kinnetik without him.

Emmett twirled in a large group of guys, dancing blissfully like only he could. By all accounts, Emmett’s family had been just as fucked up as Brian’s, and the man had seen more than his share of tragedy, yet, he still had such joy. 

And Ben, who’d taken up Brian’s spot by the pillar, gazed up at Michael in utter devotion. Brian still didn’t agree with their Stepford home, but he would begrudgingly admit being happy for his oldest friend. Michael deserved it.

Brian kissed Michael on the cheek. “Go see your husband.” 

Brian danced on alone for a time, and the music slowed into a Bowie remix. 

Brian felt his cool facade drop in favor of a genuine smile as Justin climbed onto the platform. He was dressed in a plain t-shirt and jeans, slightly disheveled. His flight back in from New York had been delayed, the cause of Brian’s earlier moodiness, and Justin had clearly not bothered to change in his hurry to join Brian here tonight. There was a time when Brian would have rather died than admit he’d been missing his partner. But, he couldn’t be bothered to give a fuck anymore.

It felt so right as they danced with their whole bodies pressed together. They’d done this a thousand times, and yet Brian’s skin still tingled wherever they touched. Brian breathed Justin in, intoxicated by his closeness, and bent down to capture his mouth. As their lips and tongues moved together, Brian was overcome by the realization that there was nowhere he’d rather be and no one he’d rather be with.

Lights flashed, confetti rained, and Bowie sang on, “Time may change me, but I can’t trace time.”

**Author's Note:**

> Talk to me on Twitter as @protagonist_a or Tumblr as aprofessionalprotagonist.


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